


Shadows

by DarkUniverse



Category: Original Work
Genre: General, i think, slightly dark, sort of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3192776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkUniverse/pseuds/DarkUniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I find it harder and harder to discern reality from dreams."<br/>.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>Yeah, the summary really doesn't give you enough of a clue as to what it's about. You'll have to peek inside to figure that out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> There's a reason people say you shouldn't write when you're in a dark place.  
> ...I'm pretty sure someone said that...once. :) Anyway, welcome to the dark part of my brain (I don't let it out much). :)

**Shadows**

 

I find it harder and harder to discern reality from dreams, from my own imagination. My mind plays cruel tricks on me. It makes me believe in the surreal, the impossible, plants hope and expectations that will never be fulfilled. It lies to me, manipulates my sense of what is real until it is twisted but so inviting that I almost succumb to its beckoning. Because reality is a dark and evil place, it feeds off ones joy, destroys everything good and gives you terror and helplessness, anger and hopelessness.

 

I _hate_ reality. I hate this world I’m forced to live in. I hate humans and all the bad, all the pain and destruction they are capable of causing. I hate the manipulation and deceit that powers this world, the cruelty, the lies, the hypocrisy, the wars – meaningless, pointless battles in which we are pitted against each other, not because some higher power feels sadistic pleasure from watching us take each other out one by one, but because we choose it ourselves. We choose to wage wars, to lie, to murder, to steal from each other, to step over cold corpses for the promise of triumph, victory – all false, all evil and wrong if it means causing someone else pain for our own merit. I hate it all.

 

And that only makes me hate my imagination in turn. Because it makes me believe that there is hope, that somehow we could be saved from ourselves, our own greed and corruption, from the darkness that lies in all our hearts. It tells me that I’m different, that I stand a chance against it – the evil. It fills me with a false sense of purpose, tells me that I can help, that I can change things. My mind is a cruel place indeed to make me feel strong and stable, different than all the scum I see around me, to make me think of myself as worthy of being a savior, a hero. Oh, how I hate that word. _Hero_. It is nothing more than an illusion. It does not exist. And yet my mind convinces me that it is real, that it is possible to achieve such greatness. And thus I hate it.

 

I am aware of the true truth. There is no such thing as a hero, never will be, because we are all flawed, every single one of us. Some more that others, but we are all unworthy. And I, I cannot possibly be a savior when I cannot even save myself from the darkness. There are shadows within me, within the dark recesses of my soul, lurking just beneath the surface, watching, plotting. And every so often, something happens that brings them closer to the surface, calls them up from the prison they are caged in, gives them a glimpse of power, power to rule over me. Sometimes I can pull them back in time, sometimes I can ignore them, spare those around me the pain of dealing with such evil.

 

But other times…they break out. Not entirely, not truly, for they are still caged within the fortress I have built around my soul, but they gain freedom long enough to cause destruction. They free themselves temporarily and yet just enough to wreak havoc around me, rage and spread their darkness, until I realize their influence over me and reel them back in. It’s always a struggle, pulling them back, pushing them down and hiding them away from the world. It gets harder every time to keep them there and harder still to resist just giving in, letting myself go and accepting the dark and evil they bring with them, accepting the ice and fire they combine so well. But every time I imprison them again, I am left alone, weak and vulnerable, ruing the consequences of their short release. I never seem to be able to deal with the aftermath of it. And I find it harder to escape the want, the need to simply surrender and never have to suffer it again.

 

And so I wrap myself up in anger and hate, not as a weapon, but as a shield, as much from the world around me, as from my own soul. The anger helps deflect the pain that is the cost of living, it helps dull the aches of everyday life, of random thoughts my mind brings forth suddenly, always when I am least prepared. They seem harmless, but they most certainly are not. The hate is a powerful shield against all that might try to hurt me deliberately, it provides comfort after any such attack and it is a close friend that I find I trust and cherish. They are my protection and my closest allies. I have long since lost the battle, but the war is still waging and I am still haunted, terrorized and scared of it all. So I keep them close and I push on, waiting for the fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave your thoughts if you're up to chatting. I guess what I've tried to do with this is show anyone who sometimes feels even remotely something similar that they're not alone.


End file.
